A Stockholm Problem
by Shikajino
Summary: When their oldest son goes missing, Arthur and Francis don't know what to do. However, their child does the only thing he can think of doing to survive; he conforms. Years later, fate throws them all together, but can anyone tell what's wrong with Mattie?
1. Prolouge

The small blond tottled down the red carpet, flower petals littering the floor behind him as he walked. His steps were measured, but hesitant as always and his eyes kept glancing to the right where another small child was walking. This child held a tiny pillow in his chubby hands (or hand, his left was plucking at the bow tie that was wrapped tightly around his neck, a little tighter than it normally would have been, but that was because his father knew the kid would be yanking at it even as he traveled down the isle) and his feet crumbling rose petals as he stepped. He was taller than the first, but both had blond hair and blue eyes, though the firsts' were more of a violet than blue.

The man standing at the front of the room motioned for the flower boy to speed up a small amount, gesturing with his fingers while flipping his long blond hair over high shoulders. The child moved quicker, sprinkling petals a bit more haphazardly than he had prior and stopped beside the man at the altar. The other boy had sped up as well, keeping in time with the shorter, but instead of walking to the man, stood off to the opposite side.

Suddenly, another man, also blond (how this entire thing happened, neither adult was really sure – fate maybe?), appeared in the doorway. He walked himself (too proud to have one of his many brothers, who were watching from the pews, do it for him) down the flowered isle and stopped, turning to face the man who was already there.

Within minutes, the two were wed.  
>Within hours, the four were a legal family.<br>Within days, the family was moved into a new house.  
>Within weeks, the children had started playing small games together.<br>Within months, the two were inseparable.  
>Within a year, the eldest of the two youngest was gone.<p>

It happened one bright day in the park, like many other incidents that have such been noted for the same thing that would soon be happening. The young family had gone to the park for a family outing. Alfred, the younger of the two small children, was forever a small packet of energy refusing to be tied down no matter how much his father (the biological one), Arthur, tried to do so. Matthew, the older of the two, was always shy and quiet (despite the fact that his biological father, Francis, was _the biggest _social butterfly ever known) and no one could have ever guessed that, given the two children as a choice, it would have been him that disappeared.

"Alfred! Don't go too far from the swings, ok, Lad?"  
>"Yeah Daddy! I heaw ya!" A pause before the younger grabbed the elder child's hand and dragged him away with him, "Come on, Mattie! Let's go to the swings!"<br>"O-Ok, Alfred." The two kids ran off as fast as their five year old legs could take them towards the bush grove that surrounded the hedges.

Twenty minutes later, Alfred fumbled his way to his father crying and rubbing incessantly at the back of his head. "Daddy! D-Daddy! H-he tooked Ma-Mattie!"  
>That got the attention of the two adults.<br>"What, _mon cher_? Where's my son? You're brother? Where?"  
>"The man to…<em>tooked<em> him! Tooked him _away_! He hitted me on the head too! Real hardly!"

The adults ran off (well, after Arthur had scooped his son up and into his arms) towards the swing sets where, unsurprisingly, neither managed to spot the elder child.

For minutes, the parents talked to the police about what happened.  
>For hours, the adults tried to find their child in the park.<br>For weeks, the parent's dealt with interviews and nervous telephone calls.  
>For months, the adults had to deal with people saying how such 'bad' parents they were.<br>For years, the parents never gave up or moved on even if everyone else had.

The family never really stopped trying to find their son (or brother, in Alfred's case). It was years later, however, when life through a curve ball at the small family.

* * *

><p>This is a multi-chapter story. A multi-chapter story that was really done on purpose this time.<br>Holy crap, I know right! xD  
>It's from a morning epiphany I had about the phrase 'Stockholm Syndrome'. If you know what it is, then you have an advantage over those who don't. Don't worry though, it will be explained later.<br>Anyway, despite the fact that this is kinda bland, it's a prologue, so it's completely allowed to be as bland and uninteresting and non-helpful towards a plot line and other things as ever.

But I digress.  
>The characters aren't countries in here, they're just human.<br>And, as far as the rating goes…it's _gonna_ get raunchier, that's for sure. Don't worry though; I'll have warnings on chapters that have "bad" things in them.  
>I don't know when the next chapter will be up, sorry.<br>_At least I have a plot and a synapse for this story! :D_

Thanks for reading! Feel free to review!  
>No. Seriously. Review. Please. Even though there's…nothing…really there…to review…uhhh...<p>

**EDIT:** Fixed some small problems in plurals. And the word 'blond/e' because, apparently, when it ends in 'e' it's talking about a girl. Go figure.


	2. Chances

Figured I'd say this prior to this chapter 'cause I forgot to do it before…oops...  
><strong>Parings in this story are:<strong>  
>FrancisArthur (Obviously)  
>AlfredMatthew (It's the main one, so, sorry those who don't like it…)  
>IvanMatthew (One sided – you'll see)  
>And…any other ones I decide on come the time need be…<p>

**WARNING:** _Accent_ rapeage, 'The morning after' effect, _talk of_ rape, sarcasm, fourth wall crackage, language, _language_ rapeage, _actual_ rape (or…just sex, depends on how ya' look at it), author diversions, and teenage angst.  
>Translations are at the bottom. Except for the Pittsburgese…but that should be easy to figure out…maybe…<br>Anyway, on with the show! (or story; whatever)

* * *

><p>"Matvey, Sveetheart. Would you mind going to the store and getting the things on this list?"<p>

A pause before, "Sure, Father." The small figure moved to raise itself from its position when a large hand grabbed its arm.

"На русском языке." A command.

"…Отец?"

"Good boy. Now, go." The hand released its grip on the boy, who in turn continued to raise himself off of the mattress.

"I hope you don't mind if I get a shower first, Отец. I'm…kind of a mess…"

"Of course not, мое дорогое. Be careful. You know vere the pain killers are."

"Yes, Папа. Of course I know where they are." The boy grunted as he stood, feet hitting the hardwood with a small thud. He padded slowly out of the room before opening the door across the hall. He grabbed himself some clothes and worked his way slowly to the bathroom.

_Slowly_ because the pain in the small of his back was excruciating and with every step, he was wincing and grunting out a noise of discomfort.  
>Yes, Matthew indeed needed pain killers. Lots of pain killers. But, as always, the temptation to overdose on them simply wasn't there. He was happy.<p>

_Happy._

Happy as ever since forever; so he'd always say.

This was how he has lived for as long as he could remember; with his father, Ivan Braginski, who loved him dearly. Dearly enough to make Matt feel good. Feel loved. Feel wanted. Feel needed. Feel _seen_.

The teen groaned as scalding water sprinkled itself down his body.

He was out the door twenty minutes later (after taking four pills and changing into clean clothes, which included long sleeves and a scarf; both to hide bruises that marked his father's love) with his cell phone in his pocket. It was on, always, so that his dad could call when he wanted to.

* * *

><p><em>Typically<em>, Ivan would not have allowed his charge to leave, but the child was a teenager (sixteen years, four months, seventeen days, nine hours, and twenty-three minutes; to be exact, but who's counting?). In order to keep him under his control, Ivan had to give a little to get a lot.

It was easier than one would think though. Simply because the boy knew Ivan could kill him if he wanted to. But neither male dwelled on that small fact. Especially the younger.

Now, despite what people may think, Ivan wasn't really _all_ that creepy. His neighbors thought the man was a freak because they very rarely ever saw him unless he was outside tending to his sunflowers or coming home drunk and stumbling. The only thing they knew about his personal life was that he had a son, he loved vodka, and that the man had sex regularly.

The first was known because, every so often, the boy could be seen in windows, going to get groceries at the store, or out getting the mail.  
>The second was known because there were boxes of the bottles left out for the recycling man to collect.<br>The third was known because the giant Russian was a vocal man.

A _very_ vocal man.

No, Ivan _wasn't_ creepy. In fact, he was a wonderful guy once you got to know him.  
>And you got past the whole 'he kidnapped a poor, defenseless child after knocking another one out and now uses the child he kidnapped for sex' thing.<p>

But, that's not really important in the whole scheme of things, is it?

* * *

><p>Matthew stood quietly in line, tapping his foot in beat with the J-popish music that was coming from the stores speaker system:<p>

_"Marukaite chikyuu  
>Jitto mite chikyuu<br>Hyotto shite chikyuu  
>Boku Hetalia!"<em>

The teen would have been satisfied with listening to the song quietly had it not been for the person standing behind him in line. Matthew had yet to turn around, and, in all honesty, he didn't want to. The person sounded annoying, to say the least, and either way, Matt was taught to never talk to anyone if he could help it.

Strangers might try to take him away from his father. The thought of which broke Matthews heart.

But, in this case, the person was really getting on the boy's nerves. What with his off-key belting of the lyrics – not even the right ones – and his constant bumping into Matt whilst dancing in the checkout line.

_"Be-subo-ru, Amefuto, Fuyu ni wa Aisuhokke!  
>Basuke mo atsui zo!"<em>

"Would you be so kind as to shut yo—" Matt had been in the process of turning around to face the man who was bugging him a bit too much (really, you'd think _someone_ would have already yelled at the guy) when he actually got a good look at him.

Impossibly tall (not as tall as his father, but taller than himself by a good five, maybe six inches, if not more) and well-built; the man had muscles, that's for sure. Wait, man? No no no, this guy couldn't have been any older than Matthew. His face was too bright, too youthful; _too handsome_. And was that a bit of _tummy-pudge_ showing through the American flag T-shirt? Yes, yes it was. Matthew's eyes widened and he bit down on his tongue. This guy was, in all possible meanings of the word, _hot _(Seriously. Like, every meaning. He was attractive, more than likely so attractive it was illegal, and his skin was lightly tanned, so it would be slightly heated to the touch) and Matt couldn't stop staring.

"Huh? What were you about to say?"

Well, he couldn't stop staring until the guy talked that is.

His voice was strange. A bit southern drawlish, but with a strong Pennsylvanian Scottish-Irish accent that was typically found in the North-Western side of the state, while still holding on to what many had dubbed 'Pittsburghese'. (Matthew knew of the accent because he had spent his entire life (or at least all that he could remember – all of his memories started around the time he was five and when he first woke up in Ivan's bed with the man looming over him and – that was the start of all of his happy moments) in the area and knew how the words were pronounced) He blinked hard.

"Huh?"

"Zackly what I said! You were yellin' at me n' I just wanted to know why."

"Umm. S-sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Naah. Now don't get all embarrassed! It's fine. I know I don't have the best voice, but whatever. I'm Alfred! You can call me Al, if you want. N'you?"

Matt paused, unsure as to how he was supposed to actually handle this particular situation. (Years of near solitary confinement tend to do that to a person.) He shuffled from one foot to the other before, "I'm Matthew," he sighed, "Matt, I _suppose_."

A smile (more like a blinding patch of sunshine, but who's paying_ that_ much attention) crossed over Alfred's face, his July sky eyes narrowing when the muscles in his face contorted to fit his grin. (Really, it had no place being that large) Matt nodded a bit, taking in the guy's (_Alfred's _– he reminded himself lightly) body a bit more. He was lanky, but well proportioned. Sort of. His legs were a bit _too_ long and his feet a smidge too _wide_, his arms whisked through the air as he talked, matching the speed at which the words were tumbling out of his mouth.

Yes, _tumbling_.

Matthew's face twitched.

He _hated _it when people wasted words.

He hated it more than the police who, as Ivan had warned, would take him away without a moment's hesitation simply because they could.

In his humble or not so humble opinion, people really needed to learn to keep their mouths shut. There was no sense in saying anything unless it needed to be said. Idle prattle was not a part of his life and he never liked it when it was part of someone else's.

The blond shook his head before walking (more like shuffling with a slight limp) forward in line and starting to lay his items out on the belt.

_ Eggs.  
>Bread.<br>Sugar.  
>Cup Cake Holders.<br>Whipped Cream.  
>Condoms.<br>Mittens.  
>Apples.<em>

Alfred kept right on talking. His words quick and precise, like he'd always had this conversation planned out, but was simply waiting on the right moment to have it, yet, it still seemed sporadic, as if he never gave a thought to what spilled from his lips. It was hard to make heads or tails of this kid, and Matt was starting to get a serious headache.

"Hey? Hey, Matt? Yeah, hey. You look like you're my age. Why haven't I seen you at school? Is it our mascot? 'Cause I totally agree with you on that! Who wants a penguin as a mascot? Well, unless you count _the _Penguins, but they're a professional hockey team, not as good as half the Canadian teams my dad likes to watch, 'm I right?"

Matt turned his head to look at Alfred but continued laying items down.

_Turkey Gravy.  
>Three Pounds of Chipped Ham.<br>A Block of American Cheese.  
>Bottle of Ketchup.<br>Tissues.  
>Unscented Lotion. Nontoxic.<br>Honey and Vanilla Shampoo. _(Ivan's favourite smell.)  
><em>Plastic Spoons.<br>Condoms.  
>Box of Mechanical Pencils.<em>

He'd have to be careful here. "I'm...homeschooled."

"Homeschooled? Sounds fun. 'Cept, not really. I like school; kinda. Ok. Yeah, no. I really don't like it alls that much. Well, not at all _actually_. I really don't have lots of friends, ya'know? Everyone thinks I'm annoying and even the teachers don't really bother getting to know me, ya'know?"

Understatement of the year.

"But, whatever. Irregardless of all that stuff. I 'member whenever my one teacher actually forgot I was there and didn't give me any tests or the homework pages or grades. Jest saw my name on the roster one day and freaked, then gave me a passing grade because she had forgotten I was there. Well, not _forgotten_ really. I've been told I'm kinda unforgettable, but she jest kinda blocked me out, ya'know? So she _sorta _forgot I existed…"

_Bubble Gum.  
>Shaving cream.<br>Nair. _(Because Ivan made Matt shave his legs and Nair was the easiest way.)_  
>Notebook.<br>Band-Aids.  
>Advil.<br>Condoms.  
>Aleve.<br>Motrin.  
>Listerine. <em>(For times where Ivan didn't really want _sex_, but still wanted something.)

Matt was really starting to wish he hadn't come to the store. But, alas, his father had asked him, so here he stood, praying to whatever deity that existed that _this guy would just shut the fuck up already because I am seriously thinking of stabbing you with the item separator stick thingy._ Matt paused in his musings, _What are those things called anyway…?_ and turned roughly to Alfred.

"Would you kindly _shut up_ for a second?"

Alfred blinked, snapping his mouth shut and tilting his head to the right. Matt breathed through his teeth sharply at how— _cute _it really was. The teen's hair, a darker shade of blond than Matt's, had fluffed itself to the right and the one piece that had been standing straight up was now pointing amusingly at a rather large woman in the next line over. Alfred's face, while questioning, had an air of "this is all an inside joke between you and me, and I'm still waiting for you to laugh" which made Matt feel really awkward. Like really, really awkward.

"I'm sorry. You are actually kind of annoying, and I really just want you to shut up, please."

"That'll be seventy-six dollars and eighty-one cents please."

"Eh?" Matt tilted his head a bit towards the cashier. He'd forgotten she was even there. Oops.

The woman sighed, glaring at her fingernails before looking up. "Seventy-six dollars and eighty-one cents. Please." Her words were clipped and tense, filled with anger. Or stress. Didn't really matter, Matt wasn't going to stick around long enough to see what became of it. He handed over the money with a fabricated smile and started maneuvering the bags into a cart.

"Hey, Matt? Matt? You should totally stop bein' homeschooled and start comin' ta my school! We would be best friends for sure! So's I wouldn't be lonely anymore!"

Matt blinked slowly before turning to look at Alfred. He was, to say the least, confused. This was not something he was expecting the teen to say. Lonely? How could _this_ kid be _lonely_? He was so social? Was that the word? "…Yeah. Sure. I...I'll ask my dad."

He definitely _wasn't _going to ask his dad. That would be crazy. Insane even. His father was—_overprotective_, to say the least. And, in all honesty Matt couldn't even see himself li—

"Oh! Thank you so much, Matt! I'm looking forward to that! I can't believe how lucky I am today! I mean, I found twunny bucks on my walk over here; school was canceled 'cause the power got knocked out by the storm last night and the generator died; and now I have a new friend, well…now I have my _first_ friend! Well, I mean besides my stuffed rabbit, Rebel, but he doesn't count (_crap now I gotta apologize ta him when I get home 'cause that was kinda mean_). I'm totally gonna show y'off now!"

If Matt had been in pain before, he was in more now. Alfred had, in his joy, tackled Matthew to the ground. The boys were now laying there, Alfred hugging Matthew tightly, and Matthew groaning in anguish. "A-Alfred? O...off. Hurt-"

"Huh? Oh." The taller blond slid off and stood, sticking out his hand to Matt. The boy grunted and took the offered appendage, rubbing the small of his back as he straightened himself up. "You okay? Sorry. Didn't mean ta hurt you—well, hurt you _more_ 'cause, well-"

"Hurt me _more_?"

"Yeah 'cause you were alls limpin' and stuff when you walked in, 'n' I just tackled you and probably hurt you more. Sorry."

"No, no. I'm fine. Uhh, see you, Alfred." Matthew turned, gripping the cart handle, and stalked off. He heard Alfred behind him muttering other apologies as he turned to the cashier, who was ticked because the two boys had held the line up for about five minutes. Matthew chanced a small glance at his phones clock and gasped. Dear God, he was almost late!

* * *

><p>Ivan started as the door opened. "Sorry Отец! I didn't mean to be late! There was trouble at the st—" Matt didn't actually get to finish his sentence because Ivan had him pressed against a wall with his arm across the boy's neck.<p>

"I'm not mad, мое дорогое. Put the groceries away and bring me my things. I'll be in my room." The Russian pulled back and stalked off down the hallway. Matt shivered.

The groceries were put in their proper places within ten minutes, and Matt had a bag with his father's things (all three boxes of condoms, the lotion, and the tissues) in it. He slowly knocked on the Russians door. "Папа?"

"Come in, Matvey." The door opened slowly as Matt peeked in, confused as he glanced around. His father was nowhere to be seen.

"Father? Where are you?" He walked in further, passed the door, and heard it close. He turned his head slowly to see Ivan standing by it and heard the click of the lock. _Odd_, the boy thought_, usually Papa gives me a day to get better before we do it again._ He paused before his eye brows shot into his hairline. _What…what if he _knows_? What if he's doing this to_ punish_ me…what if he's_ not_ going to make love to me…what if he's going to _hurt _me! Oh god, what have I done!_

Ivan cupped the boys face, slightly amused at his whimpering. The last time he'd made that noise, the boy had been eight and it was when Ivan had actually taken his virginity. (Really, Ivan's not stupid. He knew a small child, like a five, six, or seven year old, couldn't take him, not all of him at least, up the ass. Prior to that, he'd only had the kid suck him off and give him hand jobs – the boy was amazing at them now of course; years of practice – or Ivan would sometimes do the same to the boy; make him feel pleasure. Let the kid know Ivan could dish out exactly what he was receiving.) Ivan laughed a bit. "Calm down, Matvey. This is only normal, da? You want to make Папа happy, da?" Matt nodded slowly, handing the bag over to the man. "Good. Now, give Papa a show. Strip for me."

Matt obliged, slowly unknotting his scarf and allowing it to swing down around his arms as he went about unbuttoning his shirt. He slipped the blue cloth off of his arms and moved on to his pants as the shirt hit the floor. Within seconds he was down to his boxers, the scarf still fluttering around his body. The teen flicked his fingers around the elastic hem of his boxers when they were caught by the Russian. Violet eyes glanced up, widening slightly at the sight. He'd been so preoccupied with stripping he'd failed to notice his father do the same. The man was standing there naked, his member already hard and twitching.

Matt was tackled backwards onto the mattress. His body twitched at the feeling of the still soiled sheets; his father hadn't changed them since the night before and—wait, what? What was Papa _doing_?

Matt gasped as he felt the scarf tighten around his wrists before his arms were pulled above his head and the other end of the scarf tied to the bar above the bed. This, curiously enough, made his shoulder blades hang flush against the headboard. Matt had never understood why the bar was there, it was just a piece of metal sticking out of the wall, like a sturdy curtain rod. He'd asked his father, but the man just shrugged, told him not to ask questions, and pounded inside him once more. At that point in time, Matt had forgotten about the metal bar in lue of something more pressing.

Now he was wishing he'd asked his question after the fact.

It was the first time his father had ever done_ this_ to him. Maybe he _was _mad? Matt whimpered again, shifting a bit on the mattress. His boxers were slowly lowered and tossed to the floor. The room filled with low chucking.

" Kolkolkolkolkol…my little Matvey. Not even slightly aroused by his Папа? I can fix that. Come on, Matvey. Make Папа happy. Papa deserves it, da? After giving you a roof to live under; food in your stomach. I keep you alive. You need me. _Please _me, Matvey."

* * *

><p>"That man at it again?"<p>

"Yeah. You'd think he'd have the courtesy to screw whenever no one in the neighborhood is here."

"Agreed, honey. They go at it way too much." A pause before; "And, didn't his son just walk in the door?"

"Yeah, twenty, maybe thirty, minutes ago. Poor kid. You'd think he might spare the boy's innocence just once, but _noooooo_."

"Yeah. I wish we could do something for the poor dear."

"At least it's not _our _kid."

"…we don't _have _a kid."

"We could try for one…."

"_Normally_, I'd be all over you when you say that, honey, but that noise is a _serious _turn-off."

"You—have a point. Sadly."

* * *

><p>It wasn't until morning, when Matthew woke up, did he realize five things.<p>

One, he was still tied to the bar by his scarf.

Two, since he could feel the stickiness between his thighs, he knew Ivan had, once again, forgotten to use protection (odd; how he hadn't noticed it the night before while writhing underneath the man).

Three, Ivan was nowhere in sight (and wouldn't be for another few hours, seeing as it was ten in the morning and Ivan started work at eight and returned anywhere between four and seven).

Four, he really had to pee; and five, for some strange reason, and he wasn't sure why, he was thinking of the shopping trip he took the other day and of the boy he met. What was his name again? Elton? Albert? Alfred? Yeah; Alfred. That was it. Matt shifted a bit.

Pain shot straight up his spine and the teen grunted. "_Ooooou_ch….okay. Let's just try and get this scarf off me." He pulled himself up slowly, so slowly. He ended up standing, not straight, because that would make his spine twinge, and fiddling with the cloth using his fingers and teeth. Twenty minutes later, he was free and all he could see was red. Red raw wrists and dried once-scarlet blood on the offending piece of clothing; the now useless piece of clothing. He pitched it into the garbage can as he worked his way off of the bed.

Shower. That's what he wanted right now; a shower. A hot shower to wash off his skin. To wash _out _his skin.

The water came down warm and within minutes the small bathroom was steamed up and smoky. Matt slowly started to wash his skin and rinse out his sore areas. He ignored the feeling between his thighs and, instead, lathered his hair up with shampoo and washed it out. His mind was wandering, as it tended to do while he showered, and it kept returning to that stupid teen in the store.

Why had such an annoying nuisance left such an impression? How did he? Why was he on Matthews mind anyway? Frustration loomed in the corners of his thoughts and, suddenly, the teen realized the water had gone stone cold. He leapt from the contraption faster than he had moved any time prior, nearly knocking the curtain off, but soon was cursing himself as his back twitched with that old, familiar pain. He reached for some pain medication before toweling himself off.

Better. Much better. Now, how long had he been in that shower? He walked from the bathroom and eyed the clock in the kitchen as he walked passed it to his room. Noon. He'd been in the shower for over an hour. Yikes. It's a wonder he wasn't all pruney. He peered down at his fingers, only to find that they were, in fact, very pruney. Well, damn. Wonder how long it takes Alfred to get all pruney when he takes a shower?

Wait. Wait, what? He could not have just—no. No. No way did he—_did_ he? He couldn't have-could he? No. No of course not.

Yeah. Yeah he did. (If there was one thing that was nice about Matthew, it was that he was always honest with himself. Well, honest when it came to matters other than his father.) He did just think about Alfred. Alfred and a shower. At the same time. What the hell? He paused. Blinking slowly, he shook his head a bit.

"I'll ask him. I will. The worst that can happen is he'll say 'no', right?"

"Ask me what, Matvey?"

Matt stiffened and whipped around. He gripped the knot he had made in his towel and blinked sluggishly at his father.

"Ask me what, Matvey?"

"May I attend public school? The one with the penguin as a mascot?"

* * *

><p>На русском языке. – In Russian.<br>Отец? – Father?  
>мое дорогое – My Dear<br>Папа – Daddy or Papa

I was watching a hockey game at the time, sue me.  
>Go hockey! –still attempts to find a favourite team– I'm thinking Leafs or Oilers. :D<br>Anyone catch the Canadian History jab? I did. (Obviously, I _did_ write it there.)

How does Ivan know Matt's age down to the minute? He doesn't. Matt was five when he was kidnapped and Ivan just started doing the math from the day he 'tooked his away'. :D

Who has that conversation at the end? No one knows. :D After I wrote it I started thinking about who it could've been, but came up with nothing. So I left it alone.

I apologize for having it take so long. D: It took a while to get it to my beta, and she did her job, but then I procrastinated. (Not really. I had lots o school stuff. Ehh, what can ya' do?)

And yes, that scene was hard to write. There _was _more. More meaning a lot more detail, but I didn't feel comfortable posting it, so I deleted it and fixed that part so it worked/flowed. Maybe later in the story I'll get braver? Do know.

Anyway, thanks to my beta for betaing it and thank **YOU** for reading! And reviewing? I love reviews; they're easy to chew. :D


	3. Surprises

Kay, so. Gonna go ahead and say this before someone points it out (essentially, I'll nip it in the butt): If you know about Stockholm Syndrome, you'll know what's happening/going to happen doesn't exactly exist in the scope of acceptable things that the capturer does. However, for the purpose of furthering this story, I have no choice but to take liberties in changing certain things. The basic principals are there, so it does count, I would think, as a genuine case of SS, just not a _real_ case, seeing as the kidnapper usually doesn't allow the captive to leave the house. Well, that and the fact that this is fiction. Fanfiction at that.  
>But I digress.<br>**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything here, really. Except the plot, and if you think about it, I should really give that up to my subconscious.**  
>WARNING:<strong> Language, mention of rape, teen angst, and adjective rape.

* * *

><p>It had actually taken Matthew three months to convince his father to let him attend public school.<p>

'The Penguin School', as Matt called it, was the closest in proximity to their house – a ten minute brisk walk – and it was open to letting a homeschooled student transfer in as long as he took some tests first—to see what class levels he would be at; there was no sense in sticking a honors student in integrated or vis versa.

Matt stood in the doorway to his house for the longest time, staring at the wood barrier before him. His mind was reeling and focusing on all that he had gone through in the past three months just to be allowed this small liberty.

It was a lot more than he normally would have gone through for a random teen he had met at a grocery store.  
>And it's not as though Matt had been <em>averse <em>to the punishments that had been dealt out to him; he enjoyed it for the most part.

The only thing Matthew thought he had to worry about was his father finding out exactly _why _he wanted to go to school, specifically The Penguin School (which, in reality, was called North West High). Matt had done well, in his own opinion, at hiding his real reason. Now, however, his mind was flickering to everything that could happen if his father found out why he wanted to go to this particular school in the first place.

No telling what would happen to Matthew.

No telling what would happen to _Alfred_.

And surprisingly – to Matt anyway –_ that's _what scared him the most. What could happen to Alfred if Matthew's father found out about him. It absolutely frightened the teen.

He shook his head, letting his blond waves fly around and bounce back into a semblance of perfect placement. (Ivan always told him his biological mother must have been French, so they laughed about his damn French hair all the time. Especially since it was something Ivan had a habit of attaching his hands to.) Matt reached a shaking hand to the doorknob and turned, opening his front door experimentally. The weather was in that awkward pre-freezing state. It was mid-December, and snow was just slowly starting to fall every now and again. It was lying, yes, but the grass was still visible underneath it all.

His shoes made small prints on the path that lead from the front door to the sidewalk. It was slow going even after talking himself into the first step, then the second, third, tenth. It really didn't matter to him how long it took; he still wasn't going back into his house until the day was over. He'd promised himself that. Matt _always _kept his promises, or at least the ones he made to himself.

Matthew took one look at the building he'd left, eying the garden on the side that_ usually _grew _un_usually tall sunflowers, but now held nothing but a barren wasteland. Glancing back towards the window at the front of the house, his violet eyes latched onto Ivan's. They stared at each other for a good minute and a half before Ivan broke the gaze and receded into the house to get ready for work.

Matthew turned quickly and shuffled off down the street, holding his fall jacket close to his body. (Matt never really got cold. Maybe it was because he used to live in the unheated basement of the house for the first three years of his Now-Life...) Matt blinked hard and continued on his way.

Ten minutes later Matthew was standing in front of the most depressing building he had ever seen in his life (which wasn't exactly saying a whole lot; he didn't get out all that much). The place was made entirely out of pale tan and creamy goldish bricks and it was constructed of nothing but sharp angles. The doors were boring plane glass with metal bordering and black lettering. The boy didn't spend much more time pondering the exterior of the building.

The floor inside was almost as boring as the outside of the place; pale yellow and creamy grey tiling alternated in a predictable pattern, covering a hard cement base. The ceiling was paneling, cross-haired with metal bars. The walls were the same pale tan as the outside of the building, but only on the bottom; the top halves of the walls were age-yellowed white bricks. Every so often there was a florescent poster announcing out some sort of club meeting or that tickets were on sale for the upcoming Christmas Dance. The teen laughed dryly and made his way to the front office.

"Hi. Um. I'm Matthew Williams. The new student? I...uhhh. I'm here to get my schedule and a map?"

The woman that was sitting at the desk looked up, startled, and smiled. "Of course! One moment please!" She rose and trotted out through a door to the left of the office. Matt raised an eyebrow. The women was wearing a long red dress that poofed out at the waist and a blue ribbon in her wheat-blonde hair. Once again, Matt laughed in the back of his throat, his mind wondering how long she spent styling that pretty little head of hers and how much make-up she had to wear to achieve the 'baby-doll' look she had about her. He was fiddling with the hem of his jacket when the woman reappeared with a man beside her. "Mr. Williams? This is Mr. Roma Vargas. He's the principal of North West High School. He just wants to talk about how your first day is going to go, ok?"

Matt nodded, his irate little curl bobbing along with him. He reached his hand up to stop it and pull it behind his ear (which proved futile because the hair flicked itself right back into its normal position—right in front of the teens right eye). Mr. Vargas turned back to the office, gesturing sharply for Matt to follow, which follow he did. His steps were small and shy as he closed the office door behind him.

"Ok, Mr. Williams, may I call you Matt? Good. Ok, Matt. So, here's what's going on. Here's your schedule, we took your test suggestions and matched it to a student who had the closest to the classes it said for you to take so you'll have one person you know in every class. Now, I want us to have a relationship," Matt's eyebrows rose up and he was about to ask what kind of relationship when Roma continued, "I want us to be friends! I don't want you to feel like you're an outcast while you're here so, if at any time you feel as though you need someone to talk to, about anything, come find me. I'll be happy at any time. Promise. Now, onto the next matter."

'Ok', Matt thought lightly, 'this guy is rather annoying. Talk to you? Yeah. I'm not planning on talking to anyone while I'm here. Yupp. Not me. Nope. Not gonna happen.'

"...and I'd like you to meet him now, if you're ok with that."

"I'm sorry. What was that?"

"I asked if you'd like to meet your tour guide now and get acquainted for a few minutes or wait for school to start and meet him when the bell rings."

"Oh. Doesn't really matter to me." 'With my luck, I'll get some sort of swooning teenage girl or something.'

"Ok then." The man opened another door in his office, leaning out and announcing, "Mr. Kirkland? Would you please come in here?"

Matt's eyes widened at the boy that walked in. Standing in the doorway was the boy he'd come to meet. Shaggy honeysuckle-blond hair sticking every which-way, blue eyes shaded behind wire-framed glasses, white graphic T-shirt covering a black wife-beater, jeans that weren't too tight but hugged in just the right places; god, Matt could stare for hours. (He didn't have hours- not solid hours anyway- of course, so he shook his head to clear his mind and offered Alfred a shy smile.)

"Matt! I knew you'd come to the school! I told my dad, right, I said 'Jest you wait, Dad! He'll come. I know he will!' And my dad was all 'Don't get your hopes up, Lad. He might not. You never know' and—_wait_. Did I tell you my dad's British? Yeah. It's totally awesome. And I have a Papa, and he's _French_. Like from France and _everything_. He lived in Canada for a while, which is kinda weird 'cause they're all backwards up there and they wrestle polar bears as a rite of passage and stuff, but then he met my Dad and BAM! They fell in love. Just like that, 'BAM!' You know what I mean?"

Ah. Just as he remembered. Charming in an annoying as hell get me out of here before I murder him kind of way.

"Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Williams? It appears the two of you know each other? Good! Then my match-making efforts went to good use! Now you won't have to go through awkward introductions! So, please, Mr. Kirkland, feel free to start your tour whenever you wish. You're both excused from actually participating in your classes. So, have fun!" It was when Mr. Vargas turned tail and fled to his office, chuckling to himself as he did so, that Matthew realized he and Alfred had been walked out of said office and back into the lobby. His secretary smiled lightly and man-handled some papers into Matt's frozen hands.

"Here you go; map, news, nurse's hours, lunch menu, and some other important papers. Again, it was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Williams. Have a nice first day. And, Alfred?" Matt was surprised at how informally she talked to the boy, maybe he was in there a lot? "_Please _don't screw this up." Matt mentally scoffed. She sounded so desperate; so hopeful in that one line of words. That one line for this one moment where she seemed to want Alfred to make a friend. Hope; how amusingly stupid.

And unnecessary.

Matthew had every intention of making Alfred his friendmaybemore. Oh yes. Now, to fulfill his mission.

"Come on Alfred. I want to see where my classes are!" It was the most enthusiasm he could muster into his voice and in one swift movement had Alfred's hand in his and was pulling on it, violet eyes shining and lips pushing out to a pout.

If there was one true thing about Matt that he would never admit to himself, it was that he knew how to be cute. Ivan loved role-playing as the dominant man and having Matthew play the young innocent child. Matt nailed his role every time.

Anyway.

The tour guide breathed sharply through his teeth before succumbing to the newer's wishes and leading the way, not letting go of his hand. "Kay! So, this is the main hallway and over here…"

* * *

><p>If Matthew had a different life, he would have told his father all that went on that first day. Unfortunately for Matthew, he didn't and his father wasn't in a talking sort of mood when he arrived home from work.<p>

Matthew was up into the odd hours of the night screaming in a mix of pain and pleasure while lying splayed out on his mattress.

* * *

><p>It took weeks for Matthew to finally feel at least a bit accepted by this group of people he had forced himself into. A bit accepted as in there was no more 'Hey, New Kid's going around. It was more of 'Oh, I didn't see you there, Man. Sorry,' and 'Woah! I think the schools haunted! I swear something just touched me!' kind of acceptance. It really didn't bother Matt all too much because the one person he wanted to notice him did.<p>

And Alfred noticed him a lot.

In Alfred's defense, he really didn't stand a chance; Matt could flirt with the best of them, and flirt he did.

A little too much bending over in gym while wearing shorts half a size too small, eating a bit too slowly and drawn out at lunch, pretending not to understand a word in the English reading and getting flustered and red-faced when asking for help; Matt knew most of the tricks and they were all working perfectly.

It wasn't Alfreds fault that he started finding Matthew attractive, what with his creamy-blond hair, violet eyes, and perpetually blushing cheeks; Alfred was hooked and that was all there was to say about that.

Well, that and Alfred having to tell his father's that he thought he was gay, but that was easy right?

(In all actuality, Arthur was ticked because he wanted grandbabies. Francis, ever the romantic, found it completely fitting that the teen would like boys, seeing as he and Arthur had raised the child.)

It was early-May by the time Alfred made up his mind and finally pulled Matthew aside after lunch. The taller blond was fidgeting like crazy near the doors of the school; wringing his hands, pulling his ears, fixing his glasses and shirt, screwing with his hair, he was doing it all. He would have kept doing it if Matthew hadn't grasped his hands and locked his violet eyes with Alfreds blue. "What, Alfred?" The shorter asked, tilting his head a bit and widening his eyes with worried questioning.

"Would, um. Gosh darnit. Would you like to be my girlfr—_crap_. I mean, my boy. My boyfriend? Mattie, would you like to be my boyfriend?"

Matt stared for a few moments before answering with a small nod. After which he received another one of Alfred's patent hugs and a pat on the head. But, the shorter blond couldn't figure out what surprised him more; that Alfred had asked or that he, himself, had said 'yes'.

* * *

><p><strong>Phew.<strong> Now that_ that's_ over!

First off; sorry. This wasn't supposed to take so long, but it did for multiple reasons. Summer started, and I know that's_ supposed_ to be a lot of extra time that I can write in, but I've barely had time to sleep and think the past few weeks what with all the running I've had to do. And not only have I been going places, I have to read for my AP English class, do work for AP Bio, and work on a project so that I can graduate next year; so much _stuff._And then I had Alfred and Matthew's birthday's I wanted to write for and I got a stupid shower thought and my second and third excuses worked their way in and just, argh. D:

Second; in all honesty, I didn't know what to _do_ with this chapter. :\ I have a synapse/plot all written up, but it goes from 'A' to 'B' without really explaining that that's how alphabetical order goes, if you get my drift. (Which I hope you do because I really enjoyed my comparison there.)

Third; I think I had a really hard time with this because this isn't not supposed to be a school fic; not really. So when I got to the point where I had to write the school crap, my mind blanked out because it's so out of my element it's not even funny. Don't ask what my element is; I haven't a clue. (Maybe it's procrastination?)

Fourth; I had a difficult time getting in touch with my beta, bless her soul. And sadly, in the end, I couldn't. (Still can't.) And there's only so much I can do, so I gave it my typical 70-some once overs and called it done. (Which I know sounds bad because one should really have someone else read their stuff to bounce ideas off. I just don't really know how to work the beta thing on here and it kind of scares me (I have tons of irrational fears, so it's all OK here) so I tend to stay away from those...)

Fifth; I'm extremely scatter-brained. In the process of writing this chapter, I have written and published three one shots, written another one, and outlined another idea for a completely separate story (that may or may not be a one-shot by the time it's done). I have a lot to trouble keeping my mind on task. But, it'll all get done, believe you me.

And Sixth; I got myself a tumblr account recently. And, since I don't really understand it all that much, I've been trying to self-teach myself it. I'm computer/internetly illiterate. And, in case you care, I sort of have some of it down, so I'll have crap up there...Hetalia crap. And reblogs of awesome people that have it down pat and whatnot.

Gosh this is a long authors note...well, 'till next chapter! And, have faith, the next chapter will get done. Promise! It just might—take a while…but I've started writing it at least!


End file.
